I Was A Lover
by Gabi217
Summary: Draco's thoughts and feelings as he attends Ginny's wedding - set to Death Cab For Cutie's "Cath". Oneshot.


**I Was A Lover**

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill. I'm broke, I'm creative. Props to Death Cab for Cutie's "Cath" - that's where the words came from.

* * *

She looked uncomfortable.

Well, as uncomfortable as a polite, red headed girl in a room full of people could manage to look. He could see it in the tiny detail - the way her mouth would pucker just so, the way her eyes would become dead every now and again, and most importantly, the way her brow would furrow for just a half a second, just long enough to give her away.

Draco sipped his champagne and wondered why he was here.

Of course they were going to get married. It was stupid for him to think for even a moment that they wouldn't tie their lives together; after all, in every paper he'd been interviewed in, Harry fervently credited Ginny for all his strength and courage. She was his light, he said, his guide in the dark.

Draco found it funny, considering that on all those lonely nights Potter was running around alone in the woods, Draco'd been molding Ginny's flesh beneath his fingers, quelling her fears and flaming desires. She spent so many nights in his arms, and his bed. It was sickening to look up and see her now, with that tight smile and fluttery hands; he had to laugh out loud a little to keep from wanting to throw up.

He leaned back in the chair, its white wooden backing digging into his lean muscle uncomfortably, but he didn't care. He swirled his champagne lazily and cast his gaze around the room, finding comfort in the faults of his company. There was a nagging in his mind, a tiny pinprick of irritation - turning his head, he caught her pleading eyes fighting for his in the crowd, their deep, sorrowful chocolate a trigger for memory.

He scowled and stood up in his chair, brushing his coat sleeves gently.

There was crazy hustle and bustle as the crowd became more compact, pushing toward the happy couple with eagerness. Draco took a sidelong glance in their direction as the flashing lights began to pop all around him; he watched that idiot touch her face, so clumsy, and pull her close. He could see her trying to squirm, trying to wiggle free, but Harry eased her fidgets with a squeezing arm and told her to smile.

"It's just a picture, Ginny," he laughed, curling his hand up her arm. The crowd laughed, too, taken by their fairytale excitement, The Hero and his Heroine - True Love. The champagne was too warm when he took the rest of it. He'd never had a good gag reflex, of course, so the choking came from that warm shit and nothing else. He turned his head and touched his mouth, wiping a fleck of spittle that had landed on his lip, and saw her turned away from him again. He felt something tick in his chest, only a little hiccup, but he scowled nonetheless, dropping his glass clumsily on the table. He quickly overcame his agitated manner, however, when he realized he was being childish, and besides, she would come back eventually.

Of course she would. He could see it already, the impatience in her eyes when she finally locked his again. Like this whole ordeal was only a precursor to the rest of her life, her better life. She was only doing it because it was expected of her, her whole redheaded clan and all her friends wanted what was best for her, and _of course_ that's what it was, Potter, so _of course_ that's what she would do.

When the publicity got to her and the tabloids ripped their marriage apart, it would only be appropriate to pick up and move on, like she thought she should. It would be a mess of polite lies, after that, spread all out in black and white. He didn't understand why she didn't just tell the truth, but then again, what fun was that? He rubs his cheek and shakes his head, imagining her on a soapbox in front of cameras, her own personal press conference. He could already see himself standing in the near background, a perfect shot for another tabloid, mouthing the very words she was speaking, because _of course_ they'd be his.

Of course.

He weaved between tables as he crossed the hall, turning back to her once again. He pushed all irrational thought away from the forefront of his mind, focusing once again on faults, and finding hers. The fact that she was watching his departure on the way out was one of them.

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he belatedly entered the Great Hall - clichéd, he thought, but it must have been Potter's idea - was all the decorations and red hair.

The decorations because, even as girly as she was, he knew Ginny would never pick colors like lavender and crème. He happened to know for a fact that her dream wedding would be silver and gold, in a subtle, pleasing palette, accenting her creamy skin and vibrant hair. He flicked a lavender bow out of his way as he came around the corner, ducking into a chair with as much as grace as a drunk penguin, and turned his face with a bored expression toward the aisle to await the bride.

In doing so, he noticed all the redheads. He wasn't stupid - he knew her clan was primarily carrot-topped - but this simply exceeded the limit. With the exception of some of his old classmates, and older people who had gone grey, _every other person_ had tomato-red locks, be they straight, curly, in ponytails, buzz cuts, etc. He tried to swallow his surprise, but was very unsuccessful; he could feel his mouth gaping open, gasping like a dying fish as they all stood.

The organ in the corner was playing a deathtrap tune, a sad little melody that brought the gravity of the situation upon him and despite himself, he staggered to his feet and turned toward the great doors.

The first thing he noticed was the dress, and once again, how it didn't suit her. The bottom fanned out in that strange mermaid kind of way, making it awkward for her to walk, and the veil itself was done with patterns in the lace that obstructed the view of her face. It was strapless, and beaded so heavily he could hear the fabric brushing against itself as she waddled down the aisle; after she had passed him, he shook his head slowly and sighed. While she looked gorgeous in practically anything she wore, this dress was not flattering, nor was it really hers.

His face puckered as she took her place across from that joke of a man. Her pale face was even more so, bordering from decidedly fragile to nauseous. She was a little jittery, while that idiot was grinning at her. He could tell she was impatient throughout the readings, her leg twitching just so, but her mother smiled endearingly and dabbed her eyes, and the ceremony went on and on without a hitch, until the pastor turned to the expectant crowd with his hands raised.

"Whosoever feels that this marriage should not be continued at this moment, please speak now, or forever hold your peace."

_Until divorce, _Draco thought smugly, but shooed the bitterness out of his head with a subtle shake and cast his eyes back to the alter, where he found her staring intently at him, her brown eyes wide and hopeful. Almost begging.

He narrowed his eyes and curled his lips into a sympathetic smile, shaking his head at her. He knew she wanted him to do it. She wanted him to stand up and profess his undying love for her, in front of everyone, all her carrot-topped clan, and make another fairytale of her life. He quirked his eyebrows and tilted his head, his eyes never leaving hers. She should've known, by then, that it wasn't going to be him, and if it wasn't him, then it was no one.

After a painfully awkward silence and an impatient crowd with baited breath blued in the face, the pastor turned back to the couple and they joined hands, where they exchanged their vows and rings, all quiet murmurs and giant, mocking grins. Draco checked his nails and tried to figure out why the hell he was even here.

At last, they turned to the audience, Ginny bearing that same tight smile, while that dunce Potter raised their joined hands like a trophy and fisted the air. The crowd applauded politely, but his bride's facial expressions didn't go unnoticed, and the side mouthed whispers undermined the applause as they strolled down the aisle.

"I heard she saw Draco Malfoy. No one returns from that. I give it a year," Padma Patil whispered to her sister, who checked Draco's pointed eyebrow with a blush over her shoulder.

A couple of innocent strangers Draco had never cared to identify sideglanced him across the way, but he just kept clapping until the faux-happily married couple crossed the threshold and disappeared into the typical clichéd sunshine.

To say he loved her would be too heroic, and to say that she loved him back was just too much to comprehend. It nagged his insides to know that he was the reason for his current deep sadness, pushing her to marrying that oaf. He should've known that if he wouldn't, someone else would, and of course it would be Potter.

Of course he would've loved her more than Potter. He already did - he knew it from the start, from the announcement of their engagement, from her walking out the door for the final time, from him choking on her impatient words. Now the doors were closing and the hall was emptying, the crowd clutching the scene to them tightly with hope and a strange awe. An awe that could've been his, but wasn't, because of course it would be Potters. The echoing bang of the doors back in place felt oddly metaphorical to his feelings, to their so-called relationship. He wanted to wait for the day when she'd run back into his arms, but was once again disappointed by her when he realized that maybe that day wouldn't come.

Maybe he'd never wonder what was wrong with her heart. Maybe he'd killed it - drained her of all her capacity to love a person, and Potter just got the empty shell. He couldn't blame her for his actions.

Of course, he would've done the same.

* * *

Blah.


End file.
